A Short Story

Midday slowly wore into evening. The sun glowed orange and yellow on the horizon, making the dirty white siding on the tiny house gleam brightly amid a tangle of overgrown lilacs. The smell of hot grass blew in from the field beyond the four wild Bradford pear trees, the branches hanging in unkempt clumps over the house. The corners of the reddish roof were filled with brown leaves.

The crunching of tires on gravel broke the stillness as a very old silver car came up the driveway and stopped, looking as wild and disheveled and slightly forgotten as the house itself. The driver opened the reluctant car door and unfolded herself from the front seat, then stepped slowly onto the sagging front porch. Sticking a key in the lock of the door, she attempted to turn it, but nothing happened; absently she tried the next key, which worked. The door opened with a loud creak and this curious personage walked in, forgetting to shut the door all the way.

Inside was cramped and crowded with books and cabinets and furniture, none of which matched or made the slightest effort to coordinate. An antique hutch, an old roll top secretary, various wooden cabinets, and at least three dingy plastic chairs filled in around a small but very solid table that must've weighed at least two hundred pounds. The tiny, deep-set window let a dusty ray of light in as the sun descended over the horizon.  

The personage took off her coat, emblazoned with the word “Walmart”, and draped it against a cabinet. She dropped the keys on a table and clattered clumsily into one of the plastic chairs nearby, where she proceeded to stare vacantly at the wall. It had been a long day, and all she wanted to do was sit here and think.  

But, it would be nice to have a hot cup of tea, so she got up and set the stove alight with a whoosh of flame. It was a wonder nothing caught fire, as the stove was closely packed in with all kinds of flammables, but she got a rather battered kettle on and poured in some dried herbs of questionable type. The smell was very odd, but if you thought of it as exotic, you didn't really mind. She rummaged for a mug, filled it with the steaming substance, and sat down at the little table with it clutched in both hands. Her eyes lingered distantly on the sunray slanting longer and longer as the sun set, as though she was peering into other lands more comfortable than this.

The minutes went by and she made no attempt to get dinner. . . She didn't feel hungry. The cup of tea curled little feelers of herby steam into her face, like it was asking for attention. She held it tighter, breathing the smell and staring into nothing. After a moment a tiny little distant smile flickered on her face.

“I've got to finish that book,” she thought, “I was right in the middle, after all.”

Then she sighed and sank back into reverie. She had left the book. . . somewhere. She couldn't remember just now.  

Thoughts of unknown things swirled through her. . . If she thought at all. Shadows began appearing in the corners of the room as the sunray dimmed.

Suddenly there was a great thump of footsteps outside and the porch creaked as it was trodden upon. The door flew open with a clang, completely shattering what was left of the lonely silence.

“Jill Grey, what in the world?”  

Jill jumped and looked around as a short, plain figure bounced in, her neatly starched apron crackling. The figure, clambering through the somewhat claustrophobic entryway, reached a chair and, promptly brushing three old newspapers, one battered novel, and two pencil stubs out of the way, sat down thereon. Her brown hair was tied back in a hard knot, her nose was straight and rather short, and her eyes were sparking. 

 She was, of course, none other than Carly Charger, small bread-baking company owner, and long friends of the aforementioned Jill Grey. Her voice rang sharply through the cluttered and dingy atmosphere. “So this is what happens when I'm away for a month!”

“Well. . . I. . .” Jill knew that she was used to Carly coming over a time or two to help with the dishes if there were any, but it wasn't that bad, was it?

“I've never seen such a frightful lack of housekeeping. All the gutters are clogged. Don't you see what it's done to your siding?”

“Er. . . No.” 

“Well, (honestly I'm not surprised!) You at least could have cleaned the inside a bit.”

“I did—once—I think.” Jill fumbled for another cup, knocking over a stack of dirty plates in the process. “Want some tea?”

“Tea?” Carly peered suspiciously at the smoking kettle. “Good heavens, haven't you got yourself something to eat? It's six o'clock!”

“No, I wasn't hungry.”

“Not hungry? Nonsense. I'll make something. Here.” Carly brushed past the table and started looking for a pan, muttering about disorder and disorganization, while Jill watched with some interest.

“Books. Novels. Poems. I tell you, Jill Grey, one of these days you'll have to set your head straight—” Clattering sounds issued from the kitchen. “---and stop drifting out to space!” 

“Sorry,” said Jill, grinning in her slightly distant way. “but that reminds me. I wanted to tell you about this other book I've been reading. It's called Crystals of the Stars, and it has some unusual insights into—”

“Insights? It's fantasy.” Carly set the pan on the stove with a clatter and poured in milk and broth at once.

“Still. I find the allegorical parallels—”

“Alegorical whats?”

“Parallels.” Jill's usually dim eyes brightened. Her whole narrow face seemed to change into a sparking flush of excitement. “I don't know how the author managed, but they were just starting to make sense.”

“What were, the parallels?”

“Yup.” Jill sighed and bent her head over her tea, letting her shaggy black hair obscure her face. “But I don't know where the book is now. I must've left it somewhere. . .”

Carly turned from the pan, which was now boiling happily. For a second a fond smile flickered over her face, but it was swamped quickly by a laugh as she withdrew a rectangular object from her apron pocket.

“I have it here! You left it on my table last time you came over. Really, I can't imagine—”

But Jill, springing out of her chair, grabbed the book and Carly in an awkward hug. “Thank you!”

Somehow, Jill managed to get her long limbs back into a sitting position at the table, her nose already stuck in the pages of Crystals of the Stars, leaving Carly still grinning. Jill might have her head in another world more often than not, but there was something nice about her.

“Here, listen to this.” Jill said suddenly. “‘The strange presence slowly penetrated his consciousness, whispering, questioning, curious, unshakable.’ Isn't that wonderful?”

“Sounds like poetry to me.” said Carly unsympatheticly, stirring the soup briskly. 

“It is. . . In a sense. But so true. . .” Jill faded back into the story. 

 Carly poured some noodles and a can of chicken into the soup and turned up the heat. A glance round the room told her that Jill's skills at housekeeping had not improved, rather to her disappointment. Still, Jill was Jill and all things considered, she wasn't too handy at things of that sort. . . The best one could do for people of such fickle nature was help with dishes every once and awhile and hope that someday they had a change of heart.  

Carly took the soup off the stove and set it on the table, looking round for bowls. There was a clear plastic one and another dish (that she later found out was a forty-year-old crockery lid) sitting on the counter near the stove, so she took them up and set about filling them. “It's dinner time, Jill!”

Jill set aside the book. “Wow, you made that? It looks amazing.” She thought that maybe she was a little hungry after all. 

“So, how are you these days?” Carly asked after it was all served.  

“Oh—fine, the usual. How was your trip?”

“Uneventful. Lots of waiting at airports. Seems to me that they could make the process a bit quicker.” 

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Since Jill was obviously still lost in Crystals of the Stars, Carly made no attempt to dislodge her and gain more information pertaining to her wellbeing. She would have to ask later.

When dinner was over, Carly gave Jill clear instructions to come and visit the next day. Soon she made herself walk out the door with the dishes washed and some of the furniture dusted, but she hoped that Jill would get the idea and finish what she started.

Unfortunately, as soon as Carly left the house, Jill grabbed for Crystals of the Stars and promptly  herself therein. 

 Night swallowed the little house and the stars glittered out the dirty window. A silvery moon ray slid through in place of the sun, falling across the pages of the book as she held it, transfixed in its world. What people, scenes and emotions came before her eyes that night I cannot tell, but when morning came and peeked curiously through the window, there she was, asleep with her head on the table and the book still clasped in her hands.

Slowly, she came awake, blinking in the rosy light that flooded the tiny room, and the first thing she thought of was the book. Then a glance at the clock told her that she was exceedingly late and had to get going back to Walmart....a dismal recollection. Scrambling out of her chair and seizing her Walmart sweater, she scuttled out the door, clapping a patchy ball cap on her rumpled black hair on the way. Seconds later the tires crunched on the gravel driveway and she was off to work. Only when she was situated behind her cashier’s desk did she realize that she had forgotten to eat any breakfast.

No one usually came to her register; the customers knew to avoid her when possible, as she had been known to count change wrong. She tried to ignore her hunger by absorbing herself in thoughts of the book, but it wasn't the same as having it with her. She wished she had brought it with her, but the management might frown on such an action. They were already eyeing her with less than perfect approval after she had drifted off to sleep during work hours last Wednesday. They didn't seem to understand just how heavy one's eyelids could seem on a day like this. 

 “It was your own fault, Jill Grey. Staying up so late last night!” she thought to herself. However her repentance of her late-night reading action only lasted until lunch, when she ate a quick energy bar and felt much better.  

In the evening she remembered that she was supposed to drive over to Carly's for dinner. Carly lived in the downtown area, which Jill found overwhelming, compared to her own rural placement. It was really a very small downtown, with no skyscrapers or such newfangled things, only a few two story shops leaning against each other, colorful awnings extending over the buyers and various passersby. The sun was angling down against the walls of the buildings, glinting on the store windows full of yummy and interesting objects that would have captivated any but Jill, who drove through the streets with the steering wheel clutched tightly in both hands and her face near the windshield.

“Carly’s Crunchy Crusts” stood stiffly between a dark, old Bank and a dilapidated red brick clothing store. Its white awning was clean and crisp as ever, and a pansy-filled pot had been erected beside the door. Chimes jingled as Jill entered the front room, a very small area with a Desk and register very neatly placed in the centre, with a door leading to the noisy, steaming kitchen. For a minute Jill stood by the door, wondering whether she should enter the kitchen; when Carly came hurrying out to meet her.

“Hello Jill, so glad you came! I had something to show you real quick.” 

Jill noticed a worried expression on her face. “Sure. What is it?”

“Well, I can't explain it,” said Carly as she led the way up the stairs to her rooms. “You'll have to see for yourself. I was wondering if you'd left it last time you were here. It's right where you left that book.”

“Crystals of the Stars?” asked Jill, looking more interested.

“Something like that.” They entered the room, very neat and tidy, with a table covered in a white linen tablecloth and a vase of daffodils. Whitewashed cabinets lined one wall, and a sparkling window let in the golden evening sunlight. Not a speck of dust could be seen.

Carly motioned towards the end of the table, where a thin shadowy thing lay motionless, barely visible against the white tablecloth.

“There it is. I couldn't see it until the sun angled that way.”

Jill came close and bent over it. Then her face lit up. “Ah, I'd wondered where it had gotten to!”

She picked it up off the tablecloth. Carly stared; it seemed so materialless, like a shadow, but there it was in Jill's hand as though it had weight and substance. 

“What is it? Some sort of plastic?”

“It's my bookmark.” Jill looked down at the little thing happily. “I knew I would find it.”

Carly decided not to mention that it had been her, Carly, who had found the shadowy article. It was too distracting to look at the bookmark for long, as it did something strange to the eyes that was not pleasant. Quickly she changed the subject.

“I got one more bread-batch to go, if you want to come down and help.” She always offered even though Jill never ended up doing anything useful. Jill seemed to enjoy participating in the process sometimes, though.

“Sure. Thanks.”

For a moment Carly stood on the top of the stairs as she watched Jill's long frame climbing down ahead of her, the shadow clutched in one hand and clinging to the stair rail with the other. She thought to herself: “She's a good person, Jill is; but she’s a little funny, isn't she?”